Sister Berserker
by tamsyn'isil
Summary: A brief drabble of one moment in a night in Yumiko/Yumie's life, that of a berserker, but a Bible-spitting one nonetheless.   Used as an RP sample that I thought turned out semi acceptable!


It had been a quiet, uneventful morning so far, Yumiko mused. The streets of the Vatican were for the most part, deserted, no dangers lurking should she decide to run a few necessity-based errands by herself instead of with her usual escort. The sky promised rain, but she paid it no mind, instead focusing on keeping her steps in time with her mornings' Hail Marys'. Every day was a blessing, and even the few cracks she stepped on were part of God's plan for some momentous bridge in her life, or just the day, she supposed with a tiny chuckle. Perhaps it wasn't such a bad idea to take a shortcut back to her dormitory through a nearby alley, it looked clean enough. Besides, this was the Vatican, not some crime riddled city! She could even carry Yumie's sword, sheathed of course, bundled in a sheet on her back. After all, her door didn't have a lock, she didn't want anyone stumbling upon it and playing with it, cutting themselves or something.  
Yumiko turned the corner without a thought, lips pressed together in an ever-present smile. She didn't, however, count on the man sleeping in the alley, or her nearly tripping over him, waking his toothless-smile. "G'mornin sista," he drawled, and Yumiko frowned at the alcohol on his breath. She had been making her way down, still, after mumbling a quick blessing, but something was..on her foot. Looking down, she noted it was a hand. The next few seconds were quick and blurred, her feet swept out from beneath her, but before she could fall, a rough body pressed against hers, pinning her to the wall. Hands, hands were EVERYWHERE! Yumiko opened her mouth to scream, but her mouth was silent, and then-  
_Good morning, sunset._ Yumie's thought process was always jumbled, a chopped replica of the thoughts cascading in innocent spirals through her lighter personalities'. It was non-sensical fantastical gibberish, just the kind Iscariot liked to half half under their belt, always an inch away from total control. Yumiko's mind was an endless, depth-ridden chapel, and Yumie spent thousands of hours praying, sending her hopes through thick, black-veiled barriers to a God that was merciful enough to break the tiny optical veil between tangible reality and a mental prison. For the most part, she was 'asleep', drifting in an endless black sea of faith and prayers, blood coagulating in mythical mental streams around her deceitful porcelain skin. Oh, if the world could see the scars this body had…  
Rusty brown eyes snapped to full alert, a thick branch of her blade's hilt humming with residual vibrations in a calloused palm, white gloves spattered with a spectrum of blood, torn and the skin beneath it quivering with anticipation. Her partner wasn't too far away, but Yumie had wandered off on her own, or rather, Yumiko had. If it hadn't been for a fortunate fall that left her wimple withering in a puddle a few feet away, glasses resting on the dirt's crumbling surface, they _both_ might have ended up dead.  
But no, it had ended in swift and easy bloodshed, Yumie only taking a second to breathe before another set of footsteps staggered within hearing distance. Drawing but once from the slick sheath of her biting blade, with a prayer and a swift schwick, sweet spatterings of blood hit her face with a resounding, visceral splotching sound. She wouldn't question why she was fighting, or rather, slaughtering at the moment, a faceless mans' torso spurting blood while his mouth sloughed forth screams, only why it wasn't the raw, carnal enjoyment her usual fights were.

Eyes shooting around the area, landing on exposed brick and soggy asphalt beneath her feet, thugs that smelled of grime and last nights' cheap brothel, she could only surmise why. Mouth twisting into a grimace, Yumie stepped forward towards the still-alive treat for tonight. Where were her glasses? Her feet ground the pavement beneath them, her vision taking on an almost ruddy filter._Disgusting_. Before, she had been relatively bored, surprised that her katana was even in such short reach. She could _feel_ his residual, grimy touch on her holy habit and snarled at the thought, his intent had been clear, and she could only guess that her katana's handle had come into reach when he had _accosted_ sweet little Yumiko, the thing had probably fallen out of its bindings. The mere thought of hands, slimy, disgusting mens hands crawling up her body, responsible for the ruffling of her clothes, the violent removal of her glasses-Yumie physically shuddered while her prey still screamed and begged, blue eyes wide with terror. For what, she had to wonder? Had this man any faith, faith in himself, in God, he would've avoided this little shortcut today—yes, if he'd had any faith.."O come….all ye faithful…." With a twitch of the head, her grimace turned into a smirk, venom dripping from her sing-song voice. Other voices could be heard at the end of the alley, asking if their comrade was alright, enraged at the sight that befell them, and Yumie found herself rather frustrated by the noise. "If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It  
is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to  
be thrown into hell." Came the quote, fluid on her well-versed tongue, her boot abruptly smashing into the skull of Yumiko's would be assailant. Crunching his skull beneath her heel, she sighed again, wide eyes turning to glance at his enraged cronies. "Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the  
soul. Rather- be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in  
hell!" With that, she dashed, body blurring behind her as her katana met the sheath once more. Viciously, she pulled it free, sliding the blade like a shark through water into one waiting body, gasping in a near-pleasurable release as a head rolled to the ground. She hadn't been paying attention, though, hadn't been anticipating the other to kick out her legs from beneath her in such a cramped space where her blade barely had room to move. The back of her head made contact with the ground, vision faltering for a moment and her body enduring several harsh kicks that left her winded. This was a careless mistake, and the fact that it _was_ such angered her beyond belief. Grabbing the attackers ankle in both hands, she twisted, relishing the sound of a broken neck. Getting to her feet and licking her blade clean, a rather disappointed Yumiko huffed, making her way back to her first targets' corpse and plucking a pair of round glasses from his hand.  
"PRO 5:5 Her feet go down to death; her steps lead straight to the grave."


End file.
